


The Cupid

by maniacalmole



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, There's a dolphin!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 21:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13667808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniacalmole/pseuds/maniacalmole
Summary: One of Heaven's cupids has been given her strangest assignment yet.





	1. Chapter 1

                At first there weren’t any cupids at all. Eventually there was Cupid, the god, but Heaven hadn’t paid much attention to that. There were a lot of gods. But then humans had started inventing something else.

                Love hadn’t been like that in the beginning either; at least, romantic love hadn’t. There was affection and desire, but it hadn’t always been so _devotional_. It became all the rage, this idea of people being drawn together, not just because they were attracted to one another, or because they liked each other’s company, or any one thing alone, but because they were _meant_ for each other, feeling a pull towards one another that was impossible to ignore, that bound them, that was the strongest force on Earth. Humans coined the term ‘soul-mates’. How could Heaven, whose duty it was to look after souls, ignore a thing like that?

                It turned out pretty useful in some cases, too. It provided yet another form of organization that Heaven could use to keep these chaotic little bipeds under proper supervision. They paired themselves up quite nicely. Sometimes they took care of one another, which gave their guardian angels a welcome break. It helped with the whole propagation thing. It could also be useful when Heaven needed to enact its divine plan. If two particular humans needed to come together, if their brilliant minds needed to fuse as one, or if they were two great figures who needed to combine their powers to strengthen a kingdom, or if a certain child with certain traits needed to be born—here was the way.*

*If jealousy needed to be spread, or wars needed to be started, this was also a good solution. Heaven bragged less about these.

                Humans, as always, had to put a face to their new invention. First, the Cupid of their past became multiples, the Amores, spreading desire and love. It was sometime around the fifteenth century that the putti came into it. Heaven wasn’t one to miss an opportunity. If the humans wanted specific heavenly agents to direct these romantic occurrences, they were happy to oblige.

                There had always been angels whose duty it had been to oversee human relationships. Philantha had been a bit confused at the start of her transition.

                “Why do I need the bow and arrows?” she’d asked her director. “They aren’t really necessary. I could just use a miracle to trigger their infatuation.”

                “It’s symbolic,” he’d replied patiently. “And it’s not infatuation. It’s love.”

                “But I don’t look anything like these pink little boys,” she’d said, making a face at the human art of the cupids he’d shown her for inspiration in her new role.

                “Looks won’t really matter. They won’t see you most of the time. In the images they’ve created, you’re supposed to shoot them from afar while they, unawares, gaze upon their future love.”

                “If looks don’t matter then _why do I need the arrows?_ ”

                “Just try to give it a chance,” he’d sighed. “You never know. You may like it.”

                Philantha gave it a chance. She did like it. She _loved_ it.

                She could never quite figure out what was going on in the humans’ little brains, or more appropriately, in their hearts. They transformed from friends or strangers or enemies into a bonded pair or group. The world became more magical whenever it happened. Reason flew out the window, and whatever it was replaced with, Philantha liked it. It made them do such funny things, yet they never were more earnest, never more than when they were in love. It was enchanting.

                Then, when they got together—weddings! Big parties just to celebrate what she had done! Happily ever afters! Children and loving families. The beautiful things that could be created by minds who were fitted for each other. Philantha sometimes suspected the humans had been onto something. No one ever talked about where the cupids’ assignments actually came from—none of Philantha’s bosses seemed to know. They were all completely confidential, appearing in their inboxes as if by magic.*

*Which was a fairly common thing in Heaven, really, since everything was ineffable up there in the clouds.

And some of the people she brought together! Some of the families she helped make! It sometimes felt like she’d hardly been necessary at all, like all she’d done was provide the push. Some of those humans really seemed fated for each other.

                Of course, there were some sadder stories. The arrows didn’t really guarantee a fairytale ending. All they did was make one person aware of all their feelings for another, or give them an extra dose of passion if they weren’t the type to fixate easily. That didn’t guarantee they would act on it, or act on it well. It certainly didn’t guarantee the objects of their fascination would feel the same.

                Most of the time relationships of humans on Earth formed by themselves, and were more or less happy, even if it wasn’t quite forever. Most humans were actually drawn to one another by all the old things—attraction, affection, compassion, shared interests, a desire for similar futures. Cupids weren’t required for every single love, but they were there for most of the great love stories. The ones that needed a push or a shove. The couples who were hand-picked to be part of the great Ineffable Plan.

                Sometimes they got some really weird ones. Sometimes the cupids would gather together for end-of-the-workweek drinks*

*Of holy water. This is Heaven, after all.

and they would laugh over the more unusual tasks they had been sent. Often, though, they kept quiet even about those. There was a sense of integrity within the cupid community and a shared feeling that love should be between the humans and their cupid. The secrecy of it, after all, was what made the plan so ineffable.

                Which was why when Philantha got that _one_ assignment, she didn’t immediately shout about it to the whole wide world.

 

                It had been an ordinary week. She’d been a cupid for a few centuries now, and she was really enjoying herself. She felt fulfilled in her work. She grumbled with the other cupids about the drudgery of yet another workday when she arrived at the office, as always, but it was only out of coworker solidarity. She whistled to herself as she walked to her inbox and took out her assignment for the day.

                She glanced at it.

                She glanced at it again.

                She squinted at it.

                “What the _frog?_ ”*

*This was a very strong curse in Heaven, as frogs were used for plagues and such. And also because the vast majority of curses were strictly not allowed.

                Philantha crumbled up the paper and turned around, looking back and forth for any other cupids. There were none there.

                “What the _FROG?_ ” she said again.

                This was new. She wasn’t even sure if she should _do_ it. Then again, you couldn’t question the Ineffable Plan. Everyone had their part to play, even cupids. Even with extraordinary assignments like this.

                She’d had humans fall for demons before. She hated to do it, but she understood that it was part of the balance, the inevitable path of the tempters and the fallen. She still hated to do it. But this time she was supposed to shoot the opposite direction. And the person on the other side of the equation wasn’t a human. It was an angel.

                A demon and an angel. If Philantha had read her task too quickly, she would have smote the demon on the spot. Luckily, she was too conscientious in her work to be so sloppy. She uncrumpled the paper and read it again. She’d thought so: it wasn’t that simple. He hadn’t done the tempting this time. It was the other way around.

                The demon was the one she was supposed to shoot.

                She put a hand to her brow and tilted her head back, suddenly feeling wearied of her job. “Now this is a strange one,” she said. Yet somehow, she felt instantly secretive about it. There had never been an assignment she’d wanted to share with the others more, to get their opinion on it and to ask them what she should do, yet she was almost too afraid to let anyone else know. _Should_ she tell them? After all, it was a demon, and an _angel_. That couldn’t be right. Maybe something had gone wrong, and she should report this danger to one of her brothers in arms. Then again, maybe that would be seen as doubting the Ineffable Plan. The assignment came from the same place as all the others. She had to do her duty without question.

                Beneath it all was a curiosity that burned and boiled stronger and stronger with every passing moment.

                So she decided to at least check it out. She would see what this demon and angel were like, and then she would decide whether or not to tell anyone else in Heaven about what was happening.

 

                Philantha landed on Earth and parked her dolphin* somewhere where she wouldn’t be spotted.

*She had been thrilled when the humans had started imagining cupids riding dolphins. Like, _so_ psyched. You have no idea.

                The angel and demon were in a building nearby. It looked small enough that they were probably the only ones inside; this was good. She didn’t want any humans to be nearby when or if she let her arrows fly, just in case something dangerous happened when or if it hit—well, the demon. She crept towards the building and tiptoed around it until she found a window she could spy through.

                Cupids, of course, could hide perfectly well from humans. Love wasn’t ‘blind’ so much as it was a sneaking, surprising, invisible creature that could creep up on you without you ever suspecting a thing. Philantha was a large woman with a great amount of curly dark hair, but she could still hide behind the thinnest of lamp posts without being seen—by humans, anyway. These weren’t humans, though. She patted the top of her head to keep her hair down as she crouched to avoid being seen by the two beings she was watching through the window.

                She could sense that they were inside, but she was almost afraid to look. To be honest, she had no idea what to expect. Was she about to witness a horribly bloody battle? Were the angel and demon in the middle of a fight, during which, after a fateful twang of her bowstring, the demon would all of a sudden find itself unable to retaliate? What would happen next? Would the angel attack him anyway, striking him down, ignorant of the miraculous change of heart? Would he even have a heart? Did cupid arrows work on demons, anyway? She didn’t know if anyone had ever tried it. It was probably one of those things that a cupid would keep to themselves if they did, just like she was keeping this one a secret now.

                There was that curiosity again, leaving her _dying_ to see.

                Hand firmly over her hair, she peeked her head up, just enough so that she could see inside the building.

                There were two men. They were—talking.

                Philantha could instantly tell which was which, of course. They had an aura, plus no angel would ever wear that much black, or dress like that in general. Dealing with human lovelifes meant that Philantha always had to keep up with things like fashion and the messages that certain clothing choices were meant to convey. No angel would try to convey the message the overly-well-dressed demon was exhibiting with his better-than-you clothes that were far more flattering than necessary for any sort of heavenly work. Then again, not many angels would have dressed like this one, either. _Aziraphale_ , his name was. Philantha knew he had been on Earth for some time. This was why he was wearing more than the ethereal outfits angels wore when they meant to impress humans by making their heavenly origin obvious. He was also about fifty years out of style. The demon probably wasn’t going to be swept off his feet by his flashy looks, then.

                They seemed to be arguing, but not like any angel and demon before. The demon—Crowley was his name, she knew from her job description—was gesturing emphatically, while the angel sat back with a disapproving expression. He crossed his arms and started a long-winded reply, and the demon _let_ him. He even seemed to be considering what he was saying—seriously. Then he said something in return, and the angel actually looked thoughtful. Then the demon lowered his head. Philantha peered even further, daring to raise her head more, which seemed safe enough, because the attention of each of them was fixed firmly on the other. The demon was saying something with a smirk, one eyebrow raised. The angel’s mouth twitched. His eyes were smiling.

                At this, the demon grinned, and if he thought he was being sly or subtle about how delighted he was, he was a poor excuse for sneaky, indeed.

                “Crowley,” Philantha said, softly, under her breath, trying it out. He was laughing now, and the angel, though not quite laughing with him, didn’t seem bothered. The demon, his face and posture all carefully placed angles, made to look just sharp enough to give everything he said an edge, managed to look almost confident, manipulative, smug, except for his constantly tapping foot. He listened intently as the angel said something. The angel looked completely at ease.

                That must be a good sign. Unless this Aziraphale was a complete idiot, the demon didn’t seem to be much of a threat to him. _Crowley_. So maybe Philantha wouldn’t be putting him in the path of a dangerous being if she did do what her job had said to do. She had unconsciously reached to her side and grabbed her bow without her noticing, while her eyes were fixed on the demon’s nervously tapping foot. His hand seemed to have a mind of its own, too, and, betraying him, was inching farther across the table, closer to where the angel was resting his elbow.

                So maybe it wouldn’t be quite the surprise blow she had imagined, then.

                Technically, all a cupid had to do was shoot the arrow. The ways and means, the _reasons_ for the falling part, happened on their own. It depended on the circumstances, though, and not only did Philantha like to stick around and see how things played out, she also liked to give her humans a helping hand. Some people get shot in the heart when they’re having a terrible day. Some get shot right when they realize that they could never be together. Some fall when they’ve just made a fool of themselves and are convinced no one could ever love them after witnessing such a thing. Some get shot while they’re carrying something heavy and precarious, and that was just plain unsafe. Mostly, Philantha liked to ease them into the situation as gently as possible. During a nice moment—a dance, a fateful glance from across the street or room, during a gentle pause in the conversation—these were all the best moments for the _realization_ to be made. Well, the angel and demon had stopped talking. Aziraphale was taking a sip of his drink. Crowley was just sitting there. He was a demon, presumably up to no good most of the time, and this seemed like a rare peaceful scene. There could be no better moment.

                Should she really do it?

                Philantha ran her fingers along the string of her bow. The other hand fiddled with the heart-shaped head of an arrow. When had that gotten there? She must have taken it out of her quiver without realizing what she was doing. She glanced at it only for a second before looking back at the two inside. Aziraphale was prattling on about something or other. _Crowley_ listened, not interrupting, not ignoring a single word.

                It was her job. She loved to do it. She raised her bow and arrow, pulling back on the string, aiming for the demon’s heart. For _Crowley’s_ heart. Her lip curved as she watched the two of them, wondering at how they had gotten here, at how they had come so far, and what would happen and where they would go once she let go of the string. She let go.

                As soon as she did, her eyes widened in terror at the possible implications of what she had just done, and dread filled her stomach at the sound of the arrow whizzing through the air.

                But as soon as she fired it, the demon laughed at something the angel had said. He stopped when the arrow hit his heart. His own eyes stayed wide for a moment, his laugh dying on his face, while the angel talked on, oblivious to the joy in the laugh a moment before and the sudden silence now. Crowley stared at him, and Philantha stared at the demon as the arrow stuck and then faded, as cupid arrows always do, from visible symbolism to invisible truth.

                And Crowley—

                Crowley softened. His foot stopped tapping and his shoulders relaxed. He _sank_ into it, this thing that was making his face like that, his cheeks a little pinker than they had been. He tilted his head to one side and rested his cheek in his hand and smiled, gently, at Aziraphale.

                And Philantha said, under her breath, “Oh, _hoo_ boy.”

                She backed up from the window and straightened up, knowing that she would not be seen.

                “Okay. All right. That’s some love there if _I’ve_ ever seen it.”

                And, eyes still a little wide, but confident that her decision would not be back to bite her in the butt too badly, although she wasn’t sure she could say the same for Crowley,* she hurried back to her dolphin and rode it away, her day’s work finished.

*Poor boy. She would definitely be keeping an eye on him. Did she just have sympathy for a demon?

Well. Might as well get used to it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of the old, bizarre assignment Philantha had ALMOST forgotten resurfaces...

                For quite some time nothing approaching the unusualness of that assignment reappeared. And it _was_ quite some time. Cupids are aware of the passing of years differently than other angels tend to be. They see the lives of humans the way _they_ see them. A few decades, and the most beautiful of their creations would be gone. Some love stories lasted only one day. Cupids knew what other angels didn’t—that this made them no less important, no less eternal. Cupids remembered the humans they had cared for, even when they were gone.

                Crowley and Aziraphale, though, did not go. They were immortal too—this had been one of the things had alarmed Philantha so long ago when she had let go of the arrow that pierced the demon’s heart. What would love become when it could last so long on Earth?

                She had meant to keep up with her special-case demon, she really had. But, partly because she had so many other things to do, what with it being a grand new era for romantic love as the idea grew and grew among humans, she forgot to check in as often as she had planned. Nothing had happened at first, anyway, and without the fear of a sudden backlash, or the gratification of her curiosity of something _else_ happening, she had moved on. Partly, too, she had blocked the whole thing out of her mind. It was just too weird. She still wasn’t sure if she had made the right decision. What could this demon possibly do with a heart and an angel? She was starting to think it had been the Ineffable Plan’s own little experiment, and that it had quietly failed.

                The world had moved on. The era for romances came and went. The Ineffable Plan gave up its experimenting. It was time to focus on the big picture. The end product. The thing it had all been leading up to, all along.

                The Apocalypse was nigh.

                As the cupids’ assignments had gradually dwindled, Philantha had been one of the leaders of the fussing-at-the-higher-ups group. They were still angels, after all. They were still important. Earth was still there, and as long as it was, surely love could be made of use. What about bringing together important people to motivate big events? Not that she really wanted any of her humans to end up doing _that_ for _these_ big events. What about love being a way for humans to redeem themselves? Surely they should be given the chance before the whole endtimes thing.

                What about one last moment of joy before everything was taken from them forever?

                But no. The cupids had been getting fewer and fewer assignments. The Apocalypse was looming closer, and every time Philantha looked in her inbox and found something waiting for her, it was like a little glimmer of hope, or at least a distraction from the fact that everything was changing. It was her old routine, still important, what she knew best, just helping the humans fall in love.

                Which was why when she read the name on today’s assignment, she couldn’t help thinking, _Oh no. Not this again._

 

                Philantha’s curiosity had led to her developing more free will than the average angel. It had occurred to her, as she was riding her dolphin down to Earth, that _maybe this meant something_. Maybe this thing that had started so long ago and had seemed so odd, so unexplained, was about to come to something after all, and maybe it would come to something grand. Maybe it could save something. Maybe this could be how love would save it all.

                She went over the assignment in her mind. _Aziraphale_.

                But she was still an angel, and it was the end of the world. Her mind brushed over these thoughts and she tried not to get her hopes up. She just wanted to do her job simply. It was bad enough that the Apocalypse was already complicating everything. Now _this_ had to complicate things, too.

                Still, at least it gave her more faith that she had done the right thing ages ago when she had shot that demon. It was rare that true loves would need multiple arrows. Usually, the human who was shot first would initiate a relationship, or it wasn’t meant to be. Cupids only got the assignment for both of them if they were really important.

                Or if one of the buggers was just being really stubborn about the whole ‘feelings’ thing.

                Philantha landed her dolphin Tumaini in an out-of-the-way spot of the pond.*

*Heavenly dolphins can survive in any sort of water.

As she walked across the park, she saw people walking together, families and couples and friends all sharing the day. How many more days were there? Enough to seem like a lot to most humans, but probably not if they knew it was all they were going to get.

                She didn’t want the world to end. Up in Heaven she could never admit this to herself, as though she feared her thoughts would be overheard, but here, on Earth, she could think and feel whatever she wanted. She wanted it to stay. She loved love, and while she had been spreading love to these people she had fallen in love with them. There was no love in Heaven; not like this. Although maybe, if an angel and a demon….

                But for now, there was no love among angels, only the kind of assumed devotion towards one another that had existed from the beginning. Not the sappy, heartbreaking, messy thing the humans had made with all its quirks. That would be destroyed along with the Earth and all the angels would be banished to Heaven again. And if the Apocalypse happened, what hope would this lovelorn angel have then?

                Not talking about herself, of course, but Aziraphale, who would be lovelorn soon enough.

                Philantha assumed that if the arrows worked on a demon, they would work on an angel as well. It gave her something to think about—angels had hearts, then? The idea sent a thrill through her that almost made her believe she could feel her own heart beating within her. But she hadn’t lived with a physical form for as long as Aziraphale had—she only used it for her brief visits to Earth—and she wasn’t sure they would have even started hers when they’d given her a body.

                She found Crowley and Aziraphale in the park, walking together. She wondered if either of them had a part to play in the end that was coming. Whether they did or not, she knew one thing for certain as they walked along the path, patiently waiting for ducks to scatter out of their way, stopping to gaze in admiration at a swan: they loved this place too. Philantha snuck forward as they walked on. They were incomprehensibly close. How could they not know? She wouldn’t be here if they did. How could they walk so close to one another and not come together on their own terms? How could Crowley, whose feelings she knew, deal with it without internally combusting? Maybe he was. Although being taller wouldn’t help her see at all, she still stood up on her toes, dying to look at his face, but it was better that their backs were turned towards her. She was using all of her creeping powers and being caught was _not_ an option. Besides, she was here for Aziraphale, not the other one. She needed to keep her focus.

                Aziraphale turned and Philantha leapt behind the trunk of a willow to avoid being seen. She peered around the side of the tree.

                He was walking towards a trash bin holding an empty bag of something—possibly bread, which made Philantha wish she could leap out and tell him that it was not actually good for ducks*.

*But the ducks didn’t have long, either, so she supposed she might as well let them indulge, too.

                As he walked, several ducks followed him, quacking chastisement at him for walking away from them while there were still surely some crumbs left at the bottom of the bag. Crowley had turned around to watch him, and it was all Philantha could do not to stare, to try to read his expression.

                A small squat duck, white with brown and black patches, grabbed at the bottom of Aziraphale’s trousers. The angel spun around and spoke sternly to it. Crowley laughed at him and Philantha felt her heartstrings twang. The demon looked happy. The angel looked happy, too, really, once he had carefully extracted his trouserleg from the duck’s beak. He was saying something to Crowley, and the demon waved a hand at him, still grinning. Aziraphale turned again and headed for the bin. He tripped over the duck.

                The poor bird let out a squack and shook out its feathers. It held up one foot. Crowley shouted something, and Aziraphale, shaking his head, crouched down and examined the thing. The other ducks had started to swarm around the demon. While Aziraphale was tending to the duck he had nearly stepped on, Crowley was distracted by about twenty of its brethren seemingly trying to usher him backwards into the pond. He was looking away and Aziraphale was busy with the duck’s foot.

                This time Philantha didn’t hesitate, and she didn’t act without thinking. She was entirely aware of her actions as she swung her bow off her shoulder and fitted an arrow. She pulled back the string and aimed at the other angel, her brow furrowed, her eyes bright with determination and hope. She let go of the string.

                The arrow whizzed across the park and hit Aziraphale right in the chest just as he was letting the duck go. The duck waddled off, happy and healthy. The angel stayed crouched on the ground for a moment, frowning as though he were trying to remember something.

                His eyebrows relaxed just a little, making him look almost dazed.

                He stood up and turned around. Crowley had escaped from the ducks and was looking at him again. Philantha could see both of their faces in profile, staring at each other. Aziraphale looked entirely lost. Crowley, whom Philantha had already verified had a heart, and who could feel these sort of things, undoubtedly noticed. He looked confused. He stood, hands in his pockets, looking back at the angel who was staring at him as though he were about to ask him a question.

                But Aziraphale said nothing.

                Crowley tilted his head and shrugged one shoulder, turning halfway in the direction they had been going originally. Aziraphale blinked forcefully several times and started to follow. Philantha waited a moment to see if she could read their faces—Aziraphale simply looked confused, and Crowley was wearing sunglasses. Behind them he could have been feeling either nothing or everything.

                Aziraphale’s lack of expression had a different but just as frustrating effect on Philantha. She half wanted to follow them all the way to wherever they were going to see if something finally happened. She didn’t understand how part of her could still feel like it was so impossible, could still doubt that anything would come of it, even while she was _looking_ at them like that. Maybe this was why so many angels still thought they needed the Apocalypse. Old thoughts lasted too long in old beings.

                She had to go. She had done all she could. She was never allowed to talk to the humans she worked with, and she definitely shouldn’t talk to either of these guys if she knew what was good for her. She just had to hope that it would come to something—or that, if that something could only be bad, it wouldn’t.

                Not that it mattered much. They only had so much time, anyway.

                But as she had already thought before—cupids knew that love mattered without regard to time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Apocalypse is over. Heaven holds an awkward party, and Philantha runs into someone she would rather avoid--except that her curiosity is betraying her again.

                Time passed.

 

                There was new hope.

 

                People sometimes use the phrase ‘happily ever after’. They think that this refers to an ending. They use it to say that all your troubles are over, that you get to stay in a permanent stasis, a moment of contentment that lasts forever without strife or any change at all. Freeze-frame of everything being ‘right’. That’s Heaven.

                But not heaven with a lowercase ‘h’, which has nothing to do with ethereal beings, and everything to do with actual uppercase Happiness. A freeze-frame, no matter how pretty, is no way to live. Any happiness in that will eventually fade. The real happily ever after isn’t an ending, but a future. It’s space and time opened up in front of you with something to live _for_ , a reason to keep going and the chance to do so. It’s a future of possibility that goes on and on, surviving after every strife, for ever.

                Philantha knew she would have ups and downs ahead of her. But the fact that she had more time at all was a happily ever after for her.

 

                The rest of Heaven after the Apocalypse-that-was-actually-just-a-test-and-congratulations-we-passed!-erm-sort-of* was a bit more ill at ease.

*Of all the people who knew about the botched end of the world, those in the upper levels of Heaven struggled the absolute most at creating an appropriate name for it.

                Particularly anxious were those who were running damage-control after half of the angel population expressed confusion as to why the Plan they had all been planning for since—well, ever—had just been cancelled. And did that mean they had been doing it wrong the entire time? Or was the decision to cancel it wrong? Were they going to be punished? And, most frightening of all, did that mean there was no plan now?

                Management had some morale issues to address. And so, shortly after the end of the end of the world, the higher-ups of Heaven were hosting what was sort of the equivalent to an end-of-the-quarter office party.* The spin they were putting on the whole thing was that, indeed, the Apocalypse had been a test for both the humans and the angels, and both had succeeded. The humans had kept their world, and Heaven had, well, not destroyed it anyway, thus proving their faith in the ineffable plan by ignoring what they thought it was and going with basically whatever the hel—er, heck—happened instead.

*It resembled this in that the forced atmosphere of good cheer that no one was sure they actually felt made things a bit awkward, but gosh, it was certainly better than just another workday. And there were rumors there was cake—I mean, ambrosia.

                Heaven was big, but not as big as a human might think, especially considering that every angel had had quite a long time to get to know the place and everyone in it, so even though the party was taking up a ton of space and there were quite a few people there, most angels still felt a bit cramped. Philantha had already wandered through every room of the party several times before finally deciding that neither was more interesting than the other. Most of the angels who had spent any amount of time on Earth—the messengers, guardian angels, cupids, etc—had settled in one area, so here was where Philantha decided to stay.

                She soon realized her mistake.

                In fact, she backed into it after escaping yet another conversation about whether or not the Metatron had sounded passive-aggressive when they had said they were proud of everyone’s work.

                She apologized profusely to whomever she had bumped into, turned around, and came face-to-face with Aziraphale.

                “Eep,” she said. Then, as apparently ‘eep’ hadn’t been enough for her to regain control over her voice, she also splurted out, “It’s you!”

                Aziraphale looked very grave. This was made even worse by the fact that he was wearing a grey suit and tie. Even the vest underneath was grey, and if Philantha hadn’t seen him on Earth and been stunned by the contrast, she would hardly have noticed him. Maybe that was why he had blended into the crowd and she hadn’t seen him until it was too late. He stared at her with his mouth slightly open, looking concerned.

                “I mean—um—” She backtracked, trying to sound casual. “Aziraphale, isn’t it?”

                Aziraphale made an uncertain sound deep within his throat for a few seconds that he eventually managed to form into words. “Erm—yes. Yes, er. And it’s, uh, Philantha, I believe?”

                The two of them stared at each other for a moment.

                “Great about the world not needing to end, right?” Philantha said with a nervous chuckle.

                Aziraphale frowned. “That is—that is Heaven’s official stance, isn’t it? That is what everyone has been saying here today?”

                The phrase had, in fact, become the party’s unofficial slogan, perhaps to make up for the fact that not so long ago the world not ending would have _been_ the end of the world for Heaven according to their previous understanding. It was the only positive spin they could put on the chaos* that was now sure to occur.

*Humans often were.

                “I believe so,” Philantha said. “I’m certainly happy with it.” And then, to make sure she didn’t sound too pleased, just in case, she added, “Well, I mean, at least we get this party from it. Oh, hey. Did you know there’s ambrosia?”

                At that, Aziraphale looked guilty. “I just finished my third slice.” He said “Erm,” again. He didn’t seem very happy to be talking to her.

                _Does he know?_ Philantha thought. _Does he know that I’m the one who did it to him?_ She pressed her lips together and smiled at him, her eyes uncontrollably wide. Had any angels ever been shot before? Maybe they would automatically be able to tell. Maybe the reason he had looked so thoughtful after the arrow had pierced his heart was because he could _sense_ the etherealness of it all, because he _knew_. Now here he was, clearly not in a very good mood, confronting her at a Heaven party.

                Worst of all, since she didn’t know for sure that he knew, she couldn’t ask how Crowley was doing without giving herself away.

                “Sooo,” she said, voice singsong. “How are you doing?”

                “Ohh,” Aziraphale said, voice matching hers but with an edge of suspicion. “Fair enough, I suppose. Adjusting to the—erm—changes, that recent events have brought about. Of course.”

                “Ahhhh, yes,” Philantha said, her smile getting stiff.

                “Of course, we all are,” Aziraphale said.

                Philantha was both confused and relieved. Perhaps she should try a different tactic.

                “How are you?” he asked her.

                “Oh, I’m well,” she said. “You know. Just in the business of love as usual. Isn’t it a funny thing? Love?” _What are you doing_ , screamed half of her brain, which was quickly drowned out by her own curiosity doing a victory dance with pompoms. “It’s certainly an odd concept, hmm? What do _you_ , being around humans so very often, think of it?” She shut herself up and waited impatiently and in terror for his response.

                Aziraphale, who kept glancing around the room nervously, said, “It, er, certainly leads to some interesting decisions.”

                “Rright,” Philantha said. “It’s just—you know—being a cupid. I’ve always wondered, couldn’t help it, really, what it would feel like. And I simply thought, since you lived on Earth for longer—”

                Aziraphale gave a little tittery laugh. “I’m sure I know nothing about it,” he said. He gave a start at something he had seen over her shoulder and stood very still until several other angels passed them. Philantha gave him an inquiring look.

                He didn’t sound like he was actually angry at _her_ —just in a bad mood in general. He sounded like he meant what he had said, too. In fact, he didn’t sound like he knew what she was talking about at all.

                A thought hit her like a cold wave of water— _Oh, honey. Do you even_ know?

                Philantha tried to listen to his heart—to see if she could feel it, the way she sometimes could with humans who had met one of her arrows—she _knew_ he had been hit. But did he?

                “I suppose the only bad side,” she said slowly, “to this whole ordeal, is that the other side will continue to exist for us to fight against them. I wonder how the demons are taking all this?”

                At that, Aziraphale’s attention snapped back to her. He went a little pale. “I—I’m sure I have no idea.”

                _Ah_ , Philantha thought _. So_ that’s _how you sound when you’re lying_.

                “I suppose,” she continued, “you’ll have to keep defending the Earth from whichever demons they send after you.”

                Some of the color returned to his cheeks, and then a tad too much stayed there. At the same time, the corners of his lips curved upward just a little. “Luckily,” he said softly, “I’m used to them.”

                Philantha smiled. “Luckily.”

                Aziraphale seemed to remember himself. His brow furrowed and he asked in a hushed voice, “Listen. Philantha. Have you heard—has anyone been saying anything about me?”

                “Anyone? You mean like, other cupids?”

                “Cupids? No, no. Anyone from—Higher Up?”

                Philantha looked at him curiously. “No,” she said. “Haven’t heard a thing.”

                Aziraphale let out an audible breath of relief. “Well. Thank you. I think—I’m feeling a bit faint. I think—I need another slice of ambrosia.”

                And with that, he walked away. Philantha let out her own breath of relief and went to enjoy the rest of the party as best she could. At least she knew now that she didn’t have another angel coming after her with a vengeance at what she had done. He didn’t have a clue. He didn’t even seem to know anything had happened to him at all.

                It wasn’t until later when the rush from the ambrosia had worn off that she realized how very sad this was.

 

                This was unacceptable. Philantha’s calling was to create _love_ , not to just shoot some people with metaphorical yet also very real arrows that make them go ‘oh hmm’ for a second and then do nothing _about_ it. She had been assigned a job to do and she was going to see it through.

                _And maybe_ , she thought, _once I see that angel and demon who are friends again, I’ll be able to shake off this habit of pretending everything I do is because someone else told me to do it, and I’ll be able to admit that it’s all really because I am just that invested in this._

_Because I care about them._

                She was riding her dolphin down to Earth for the fourth time that month. She had been spying. She had been here often enough, in fact, that Tumaini had struck up a romance of her own with one of the Earth dolphin’s in the sea where she parked her. It was enough to make all of this worth it, even if she did eventually get found out by another angel and punished for some sort of disobedience, or, really, obedience that they didn’t actually like.

                Crowley and Aziraphale had only been together one of the times that she had visited them. Crowley had just been leaving Aziraphale’s home, and Philantha had had to leap behind a vehicle to hide from him. Their goodbyes to each other hadn’t seemed particularly romantic. He had let the door close behind him, gotten into his car, sat there for a few moments, pounded his fist on the steering wheel once, then left. Philantha had almost stormed in on Aziraphale then and there, or stalked Crowley to his home and barged into his flat to have some words with him, but it simply would have been too difficult to explain.

                She had seen Aziraphale alone once before. He had been making phone calls. He was calling everyone whose phone numbers he had in a notebook and asking them if they had or knew anyone who had a specific edition of a specific book. He did this for hours.

                When she had seen Crowley alone, he had been taking a walk down one of the most crowded streets of London, watching people bump into each other and get in each other’s way and annoy each other in all the smallest but most common ways. He had looped around the busiest intersection again and again. She had watched the humans, sometimes frowning, sometimes writing things down in a notebook of his own, and, sometimes, smiling.

                Then he had gone home and watched seven episodes of Doctor Who.

                Spying was not always as fun as the movies made it seem, and it was not near as romantic.

                Her patience was being tried, and it was making her reckless. She had stopped patting down her hair when she was spying through a window, and neither of them had noticed. Crowley had lots of plants by his window that she could hide behind. Aziraphale, whose window she was peeking through now, never even glanced in his store window’s general direction. Usually he had his nose buried in something, either his computer or a book. The window was also so dusty that she wasn’t sure he would even be able to see through it. It was making her own spying difficult, too. Was it dust, on the inside, or dirt on the outside? She pulled her sleeve across her palm and rubbed at it, squinting through the glass. She rubbed some more dirt off and saw a shape move inside—but it wasn’t inside. It was the reflection of someone walking up behind her.

                She spun around and saw Crowley, staring at her with his mouth agape.

                She stood up straight and held her hands behind her back, not even thinking straight enough to smile innocently. She realized, with a pang, that Crowley looked scared. She realized what she looked like—an angel he didn’t know, on Earth, armed with a bow and arrows. He looked for a moment like he was going to flee. Then, though he wore glasses and she couldn’t see his eyes, his head tilted just enough for her to know that he had seen the particular shape of the arrows popping out of her quiver just above her shoulder.

                His mouth still open, he took in a deep breath, his narrow chest expanding as far as it could. He pointed a finger at her, and exclaimed, “YOU!”

                “Erp,” Philantha said.

                “It’s YOU, isn’t it? I ought to—”

                “If you yell here,” Philantha said quickly, “Aziraphale may hear you. Then he may come out and see what’s going on, and he may wonder why you’re so angry at me, and he may—he may start to ask questions.”

                Crowley’s arm fell to his side. His mouth closed into a grim line. Philantha cautiously walked forward, gently grabbed his arm, and ushered him around the corner.

                Once they were out of earshot of the bookstore, he immediately ripped his arm free of her grip and used it to point at her threateningly again.

                “You bloody cupid,” he spat. “You come here and _shoot_ me—you—and then you come back, after—whenever it was. Uh.”

                He stopped. Philantha raised an eyebrow at him.

                Crowley grimaced, and the cupid thought she could recognize something in his expression—it was that bastard curiosity, eating away at him. He asked, sheepishly, his voice hoarse, “When _did_ you do it?”

                “Oh, honey,” she said gently. She gave him a sad smile. “It was a _long_ time ago.”

                Crowley both blushed and scowled. He kicked his foot at the pavement and glared at her. Philantha fiddled with her bow awkwardly, but it was more out of embarrassment than fear. Part of her had always been afraid of a confrontation with a demon, but part of her had long known that Crowley wasn’t the type to spring any sort of attack. It wasn’t just that he was afraid, either. He didn’t want to hurt people. That was why she was here. It was why she wanted so badly to make him realize that her shooting him hadn’t been such a bad thing, why she wanted to get rid of that scowl.

                “ _Why?_ ” Crowley asked. He sounded so pained. Philantha reached out to him and dared to take a step forward, but he clenched his jaw and turned his head, so she stepped back again.

                “You know why,” she said.

                “I don’t mean why _him_ ,” Crowley said. “I mean, why _me_. Why _you_. Why did you have to shoot me? I mean, I get that, that I was getting too friendly—maybe—that I was maybe bringing it on myself, or, or something. Why did you have to _shoot_ me? If it was just my own mess I was getting myself into then why did _you_ have to get involved? Maybe I could have—have seen it coming, otherwise, and, and left, or something….”

                “You wouldn’t have left,” Philantha said bluntly. She even surprised herself with her own confidence. Crowley winced but didn’t argue.

                “Still,” he said. “It—I could have kept it in check. Or something. Why did you have to use one of your bloody arrows?” The whine in his voice was being replaced by anger. “It’s not like me falling for bloody Aziraphale was part of the plan!”

                “But that’s what I meant,” Philantha said softly. “When I said ‘You know why’. Because I figured you would know. Cupids only ever make people fall in love for one reason. Crowley—I was _assigned_ you.”

                The demon stared at her in awe. Then in consternation. Then in fury.

                “But that’s _absurd_.” He threw his hands up in the air. Then he started pacing. “What is it,” he mumbled. “Is this—is this some kind of, punishment? Or something? Am I being punished for thinking I could be like them?”

                Philantha, from a shared spirit, knew that he was talking about humans. She always felt close to her assigned humans, even though they could never talk with her the way Crowley was now. She usually kept watch over them for the rest of their lives, checking in every now and then to see how they were faring and if their love was still strong. Usually, it lasted their whole lifetimes. She had always been proud of that. She considered them almost like her children, these humans whose hearts she cared for. It was a bit embarrassing, but she felt similarly about Crowley—she couldn’t help it. She had listened to his heart. She couldn’t help listening, now, to everything he was saying, if only because she so rarely got a chance to, but also, of course, because of his unique situation. He didn’t know that Aziraphale loved him back. She couldn’t tell him that she had been assigned him, too, that she had shot him too. She was not allowed to tell. As rebellious as her thoughts had become, she had still only gotten to this situation by actually doing her job right in spite of all her doubts as to whether or not she should bend the rules. She hadn’t told anyone about the demon who had fallen for an angel. She couldn’t tell him about the angel who was falling for him, either; it was not how it worked. She shot them, then they dealt with the relationship itself, confessions and all—otherwise it wasn’t true love, it was just chess with an angel moving the pieces around.

                But these pieces could move by themselves, and she was damned well going to give them as many hints as she could.

                “That must be it,” Crowley was saying. “Someone must’ve—must’ve seen what I was doing, and decided they were going to teach me some sort of sick lesson—”

                “Crowley,” Philantha said. “Do you think the way you feel about Aziraphale is punishment?”

                Maybe it was the way she had said ‘feel’, or maybe it was just the name ‘Aziraphale’. Crowley looked at her, then his eyebrows pulled together, and he looked down and sighed.

                “I didn’t think so,” she said. “So that’s not it. I can’t tell you why. But I can tell you that—well, it’s no good, despairing like this. I’ve—I’ve seen humans do it. Not very often, but sometimes, when I get assigned someone and they—they don’t believe it can ever become real. You have to keep hope, Crowley. I mean,” and here she put on her hinting face as best she could, “it’s probably okay. Things will work out in the end. Eh?”

                Crowley, unfortunately, was staring at his shoes instead of looking at her face with its wiggling eyebrows. “Do you even,” he said in a low voice, “understand what you’re doing to people?”

                “Crowley—”

                He turned to her, and his face was so angry that her own expression fell away. “Things do not,” he hissed, “’work out’. This stuff is serious. It hu—” His voice broke and he cut himself off.

                “But have fai—” Philantha started, and then she cut _herself_ off when he shot her a glance. She continued, “— _trust_ that things will be okay.”

                Crowley stared at her blankly. Philantha felt her heart—yes, there it was, she had a working one after all—go out to her poor misguided child.

                “Listen,” she said. “I may have been responsible for some of this. But you are the one who spoke to him first. You did for eons. And then—now, if you give up hope, that will not be something that I did to you. That will have been your _choice_.”

                Crowley bit his lip. Philantha nearly reached out to him again, but thought she had better not push her luck. She did, however, take a few steps closer. Crowley didn’t back away.

                “Bloody cupids,” he said. “With your—arrows, and your—dolphins.”

                “You know, really,” Philantha said with a smile, “I’m a bit jealous of you. I mean, I didn’t even know it was possible for beings like us.” She brightened. “But you’re lucky! I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to feel this way, and now you get to experience it!”

                She hadn’t noticed the warning signs. She had gotten so carried away by her thoughts that she hadn’t seen the storm clouds rolling in across Crowley’s face. Now, as she looked at him, she just barely noticed the wicked twitch to his mouth.

                “Oh really?” he said.

 

                And so, Philantha was flying off moments later, trying to stuff her arrows back into her quiver, because Crowley had tried to grab one and stab her with it.

                In spite of it all, right now she was glad that ‘her child’ was, in the most real sense, _grounded_.

 

                And now it was up to them. She had really, really done all she could. Playing with their hearts any more than she had wouldn't be right.

                They had to be free to do this on their own.


	4. Chapter 4

                They sat at a table, one across from the other. Just as they had for centuries, just as they had since tables had been invented, just as they had been doing since well before either of them had wanted the table to disappear as badly as they did now. One of them wondered if he could scootch his chair surreptitiously around the edge, closer to the other side. The other wondered if he could reach across it, or just flip the damn thing over. They leaned toward each other as they continued talking about not-quite-what-they-actually-wanted-to-say. Just as they always had.

                Crowley put his elbow on the table, leaning forward even more.

                “So they didn’t even say a word to you?”

                “Not a one.” Aziraphale’s fingers drummed against the table. He curved them into a fist, to keep them still. “The outfit you planned for me did seem to help.”

                “Grey always blends in,” Crowley noted. “Well. Thank Someone for that.”

                “Thank Adam, I think. The Metatron walked right past me once or twice. No one acted as though I had anything to do with it at all. Of course, they were all claiming it had been a test, and Heaven had passed. By ignoring the Plan, I mean.”

                “So really,” Crowley said, laying his arm across the table to gesture towards the angel, “they should have been lauding you as a hero.”

                Aziraphale gave a tight smile. “I think I prefer being ignored.”

                Crowley grinned. He was practically laying across the table now in the most ridiculous fashion, but he never had been one for good posture anyway.

                Aziraphale scooted his chair forward an inch.

                “Anyway,” the angel said, “it’s good to be home.”

                “Home,” Crowley repeated. “Amongst the humans. The one place that _wasn’t_ created for angels, fallen or otherwise.”

                “But we do get along, among them, don’t we?” Aziraphale said with a sort of wistful sigh. His fingers had stretched flat across the table’s surface again. He carefully placed his hand in his lap. After a few moments, he said, his tone measured, “Someone in Heaven asked me what I thought of love. The human kind. After having lived among them so long.”

                This did make Crowley sit up, only a little. “Really?”

                “I told them I found it ‘interesting’.”

                Crowley snorted. “Understatement.”

                “I believe my exact words,” Aziraphale said, wearing a wry smile, “were that it ‘led to some interesting decisions.’”

                “Well, you’re not _wrong_.”

                “I may have been lying.” Aziraphale’s eyes were turned down towards his hands. “What I should have said, really, was that—that I think it’s probably quite a good thing.”

                “’A good thing’.” Crowley hadn’t sounded mocking when he repeated the words. But he did laugh when he said, “The angel of the world examines the concept of love and deems it worthy of the rating of ‘good’. Humans will be pleased.”

                “Oh, you ought to know,” Aziraphale said with a smile, “by now, that I hardly ever admit any sort of glowing praise for anything.”

                “Not unless it’s one of your favorite authors,” Crowley said. “That’s quite a compliment, then?”

                “It is.”

                “Right.” Crowley propped his chin on his fist, elbow back on the table, and risked a sly grin. “Since you’re in such a magnanimous mood, maybe you’ll finally admit that you actually _like_ wasting time with me.”

                Aziraphale, sitting up calmly and meeting his gaze straight on, said, “I love spending time with you.”

                There was a moment of silence. The two of them regarded each other across the table. Aziraphale slowly let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched upward.

                “Right,” Crowley said.

                And then he decided it was time to break some traditions.

 

 

 

_Dear Philantha,_

_Firstly, I must say that I am writing on behalf of both myself and Crowley. He wishes to say that he is not at all sorry for trying to stab you. I don’t know what that is about, and frankly, I don’t think I want to know. I’m sure he really is sorry._

_Secondly, we want you to know that this is a letter of well-wishing. We who have lived among humans for so long must stick together. No one else can truly understand what we know and feel, and it is invaluable to be able to share it all with someone, isn’t it? On that note, Crowley has asked me to tell you to have hope. The three of us have fallen a bit smitten with the world and its innumerable adventures, haven’t we? We have witnessed them for so very long. But really, six-thousand years is nothing, my dear. From where we are now, after recent events, the future seems freer than ever. Who knows where it will take us all? Crowley says that you should never assume your story has already been told for you. You should never assume that it is over, or that there aren’t countless more chapters and players who have yet to be involved. Most importantly, you should never assume you will live your entire story alone. Have hope._

_Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, we would both like to say thank you.* I believe you know why._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Aziraphale_

_*Crowley is watching me over my shoulder as I write this, and he insisted that I add a note to say that he still has some grievances with the particulars of your methods, but I’m sure he is only teasing you. He also insisted that this be added as a footnote instead of a postscript. I don’t know. I don’t understand him, sometimes. But I suppose I don’t have to understand him to love him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Thank you for reading <3 I hope the cupids are kind to you in the future


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